


Beat Drop

by Atsvie



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Glasses, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsvie/pseuds/Atsvie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>(210): I want to break his glasses with my pelvis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat Drop

“Dude. You're staring.”  
  
Alex frowns and bites the rim of the plastic solo cup before taking another sip, “I can't help it. It's his...his damn _face_.”  
  
Sean laughs, a choking sort of noise over the smoke of the blunt. He elbows the blonde in the arm with a curl of his lips, one of those sloppy shit eating grins, and Alex almost feels like punching him. But that would require spilling his beer and distracting himself from the lovely buzz he has going. Sean's stupid grin was safe for another night.  
  
Alex decides to elaborate, or maybe that's the alcohol talking for him, but he rolls his free hand towards the other direction, “I mean...just...his _glasses_.”  
  
His glasses. That's what he is going to focus on, definitely. Not those bright cherry red lips that seem even _redder_ when he's pulling his bottom lip between his teeth nervously. It's a frequent habit that goes straight to Alex's cock, but he chooses to ignore—or pretend to not focus on because those fucking lips are more or less demanding his attention—and instead laments the clunky frames balanced on his nose.  
  
Hank looks a lot like a fish out of water at the party, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed as if he's trying to hide. And partially like he's trying to keep the oxygen flowing through his lungs. Whoever he came with—Raven is what Alex assumes, considering that she's definitely grinding against a very not Hank guy who he thinks is Russian, which is like the goddamn antithesis of sweet, awkward Hank—has left him to flail into social interactions, or lack thereof, by himself. He's wearing normal jeans and a t-shirt that looks like it has some geeky print like Spock's face on it, but Alex takes notice that the black shirt is tight enough to define the lean shape of his torso.  
  
(And Jesus _those lips_.)  
  
Alex has seen Hank without his glasses before, not often, but it has happened, and as cute and dorky as he is with them on, he has a slight obsession with the electric blue of his eyes. His eyes are so damn big and blue, and with those lips, he could be something from a porno, Alex decides.  
Sean nods at him sagely, probably too high to really understand his frustrations over red lips and thick black frames, but he pats his shoulder sympathetically anyways.  
  
“And it's like...I want to break his glasses with my pelvis.”  
  
The statement apparently is enough to send the redhead into a giggling fit, doubling over and Alex furrows his brows, offended in his half drunken state of mind. He's slightly serious, maybe more so about the action of breaking the glasses, but he'd be happy if it meant that Hank would be required to don contacts and show off those big blue eyes for once. But he would also really like shoving his hips in his face roughly, gripping those brunette locks in his fingers and _pushing_ his face down onto his cock until the glasses just snapped under the pressure.  
  
Sean is still giggling madly, now rolled up on the floor and there's a girl a bit older than him nudging his head with her shoe. Alex rolls his eyes and wonders why he's not across the room when Hank is alone and really fucking gorgeous.  
  
He should fix that.  
  
So he does, pushing himself off the wall and making his way over to the lanky boy.  
  
“Hey, Bozo,” Alex greets with a tilt of his head, hoping he will still hear him over the beat of the music. Apparently he does, because he turns to look at him with red lips pursed in a terribly disconcerted manner that is far more attractive than what should be allowed for pissed off expressions. Alex wonders if he pissed him off, and maybe Hank actually hates him. He swallows and realizes that he left his beer somewhere over by Sean—no wait he had left it _on_ Sean—and he's not nearly drunk enough for this now. Liquid courage only extends so far apparently.  
  
“You look like you could use some company,” Alex nudges his arm.  
  
“I'm fine,” Hank mutters, and he shifts on the balls of his feet, and he's slightly closer to Alex. For a moment their shoulders brush, and it's as if there's a magnetic pull, because Alex leans slightly towards him in reply to gesture.  
  
“You're alone, Hank,” Alex points out, a little too cheerfully, “And this party sucks anyways.”  
  
Hank pauses, and Alex can see his mind reeling. He's thinking visibly, the quark of his lips and crease in his brows an outward sign of whatever he's mulling over. Sometimes Alex really wishes he had some kind of power to get an insight into the brunette's pretty little head, but the language of his facial expressions is about as cryptic as ever.  
  
“Are you drunk?”  
  
Alex laughs, “Only a little.” And he hates that he's telling the truth, because he's too sober and the alcohol hasn't calmed the nerves going haywire. “Is it that bad I might want to talk to you?”  
  
Hank clears his throat, and it looks like he tightens his arms around himself, “No...only when you like making me feel like shit.” Alex is taken aback by that, partially because Hank just said 'shit', partially because Hank just called him out on it, and more so because he makes Hank feel like shit. And what is he supposed to say, that he doesn't mean to? Because he does mean to, just for different reasons, and he is not admitting he just liked seeing him flustered.  
  
He doesn't want Hank to feel like shit, because he really likes Hank in all of his dorkiness and good nature. And for a time, he had thought that maybe Hank liked him too judging by the glances and the fact he hadn't told him to fuck off yet. Then again, Alex isn't the most socially graceful of people, and he is starting to question the shoddy evidence behind the logic.  
  
And there's really nothing better to say, and he decides that sure he'll let it be the alcohol talking for him later when it blows up in his face.  
  
“I like you.”  
  
Those damn glasses, he thinks, should really break, because Hank is just _staring_ at him, and as attractive as the expression is, he wants it to be unconcealed by lenses. And so he steps closer to him, and he leans up on his toes because Hank is fucking tall. “I. Like. You.”  
  
Impatiently, he grips the black shirt in his fingers and tugs him down, pressing their lips together. It lacks finesse, Hank's lips are slightly chapped and Alex sort of misses and his lips land more on the corner of his mouth. But Hank doesn't pull away, he's just rigid against him. Alex has always been impulsive, which has landed him in more shit than he'd like to remember, but for once he's mentally reprimanding himself for not thinking before letting his body act, because great whatever chance he had is now gone because he's probably scaring the fuck out of Hank.  
  
Until Hank is pulling him closer. Scratch that, he thinks as Hank's lips move against his, _best move of his life_.  
  
Hank's hands are on his hips at some point, pulling him closer. He licks at Hank's bottom lip, and the kiss is beyond sloppy but he can't bring himself to care because somehow its perfect and not terribly awkward as he feels the taller boy's tongue slide into his mouth like he actually knows what he's doing. He would be concerned that Hank isn't sputtering and letting Alex take control if it weren't for the things he is doing with his tongue. Because oh _fuck_ , he is driving Alex crazy, sucking on his tongue lightly and nipping at his lips. A few minutes in, it's a lot less bruising lips and teeth clanking so much as it is Alex's fingers in his hair as he tries to keep up with the way that Hank is doing all these magical things with his mouth.  
  
He doesn't realize that there's a pressure lifted off of his face before Hank pulls away to adjust his glasses that had been knocking against Alex's skin. There's a sheepish grin across his lips as he wipes the wetness of them with the back of his hand, and Alex is tempted to declare his hatred for the frames right there because he has a very flushed Hank whose eyes probably would look brighter if not for the glasses.  
  
Before he's given the chance to express the aforementioned contempt for his glasses, Hank is biting his lip nervously again, “There's...there should be empty rooms upstairs.”  
  
Oh. _Oh._ Something twists pleasantly in Alex's stomach, and he's suddenly very aware of the arousal pressed against his hips.  
  
After pushing their way past the throngs of bodies, they're barely stumbling into the closest room that isn't occupied. Alex thinks he hears a whistle, and a feminine voice shouting something obscene, but Hank's grip on his waist—god they could hardly move apart to even get to a room—had just tightened in response. He wonders if Hank knows who it is, or if this is some event because hey Hank McCoy, nerd extraordinaire might just get laid.  
  
He's two steps in the room before his back is against the door. There's a thud as he feels his head hit the wood, and the taller boy mumbles something of an apology into the skin of his neck. His breath is warm, uneven and Alex's legs feel wobbly with Hank's lips on his neck. There's a tongue leaving a wet stripe down to his collar, and Alex looks up at the ceiling and hopes that whatever that pleased feline noise had been wasn't from him—it had been, but Hank is now gently nipping at his skin, and he can't deny that the moan that follows is his.  
  
Maybe the catcall had been for a different reason, Alex thinks, or at least tries to, as the juncture of his neck and shoulder is sucked and bit, because geeky Hank has _definitely_ done this before. He isn't very vocal, but Alex is making these gasps and his voice has turned into something of an incoherent rasp. Their movements are all too inexperienced, albeit Hank is less so and that makes him the expert out of the two of them, and Alex isn't entirely sure how to react in time with the touches and kisses. He hasn't worked out the formula, and everything a computer monitor had taught him has been rendered irrelevant because none of that is Hank.  
  
Ten minutes ago, Alex had been mourning over stupid red lips and glasses, and now Hank's fingers were making their way under the waistband of his jeans. He wants to close his eyes, to relax into the touch that may as well be a live current, but his senses are too greedy for patience. He wants to drink in the sight of Hank's hands on him, to feel long fingers, to taste his skin, and inhale the scent of a name brand bodywash that he can't think of at the moment. He looks straight ahead instead, over his shoulder for a moment, because he realizes that he hadn't even bothered to look at the room—which is nothing remarkable, a generic bed with normal blue sheets and a matching bedside table.  
  
Now they're making out in some guest room and Alex is bound to have hickeys tomorrow, but he doesn't really mind all that much. It's as if something had snapped into place, a circuit connected and now there's a rush of energy and excitement, like they had both been waiting too long for this. And maybe they had been, or at least Alex has. But the way that Hank's fingers skim down his arms, over his hips, like he's etching his body into his mind, he thinks that he probably isn't the only one. Not that it matters, because Hank is here now, and he rather likes the present the way that it is.  
  
“Is this okay?” Hank murmurs, voice resonating in Alex's nerves at the right tone to send a static jolt over his skin. His fingers play with the fabric, already hooked underneath and ready to go further, and Alex wants to say something impatient and crude because is he really asking this? Of course he's asking, he's Hank, and he's far too sweet to push anything. Instead, he just nods and curls his fingers into the dorky Star Trek t-shirt.  
  
It's almost embarrassing how hard he is, and if it wasn't obvious that Alex isn't a people person with constant sex before, it is when he's pushing his hips up into Hank's hand desperately. The button to his jeans are undone, but his wrist is still at an awkward angle where the friction isn't quite enough and Alex is going mad from the way that his cock is being palmed through his boxers.  
  
“More,” Alex breathes at the other boy, who is tilting his chin up enough for him to get a glimpse of bright teal eyes and that red mouth that has been taunting him all night. He wants him to take off his glasses, which are crooked by now, but he moans before he can get the words out. He looks like he's on a mission, eyes flitting back and forth from his hand on Alex's cock, back to his face as if to make sure he's doing it right. Hank's hand is working him until he feels like he's unraveling him, untangling tense knots and god he's melting by the time that his jeans are tugged down enough for his cock to spring free because Hank is complying with the babble to touch him more.  
  
Alex feels like a mess, and he probably sounds like one too. He's not in control, and he's, for once, not the one pushing himself into this. Even with Hank's fingers at the base of his cock, dragging up and eliciting ungodly noises from his throat, he feels safe. He's being impulsive within bounds, because Hank has enough control for the both of them and Alex finds himself alright with just giving in. No one else would see him bucking into his hand, anyways.  
  
Hank runs his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing a pearl of precum before there's a pause that is distinctly Hank, the kind of gesture that he makes when he needs the rest of the world to pause in its cycle so he can process an influx of data that comes to him. He kisses him again, rougher than before but still with the same nervous heat, and Alex swears he may come right there, because Hank drops to his knees in front of him.  
  
For a moment, Hank looks back up at him and Alex can't decide if that's a trace of a smirk--Jesus, can Hank surprise him anymore, no, no wait--or if he's genuinely eager. Either way, he's gorgeous, bent down in front of him, face flushed behind thick frames and a tongue running over cherry lips. He dips his head, and Alex watches behind half lidded eyes as he presses kisses on the inside of his thigh as if he knows that he's taking too long, but is thoroughly taking his time with him. There's teeth on his flesh there, and Alex whines because he's about two seconds away from thrusting his cock into his face if he _doesn't do something with it already_.  
  
"Hank," he mutters, threading his fingers through auburn locks, "You are killing me, bozo."  
  
His only response is a soft laugh, and he feels him adjust between his legs to push his glasses up. He honestly would not have pegged Hank for a tease, but he's learning an alarming amount about him in one night. Like the way that his tongue feels against the head of his cock; Alex hisses, leaning back against the door for support as Hank's mouth runs down the length of his cock. Despite his previous assumption that Hank was the worst damn tease in the history of ever, the other boy doesn't waste time in wrapping his lips around the tip while a hand jerks at the exposed length slowly. And fuck, Hank's mouth is so wet and warm, and Alex feels like he may just burst right there.  
  
Whatever Hank had been doing with his tongue when they were kissing certainly applied for blowjobs too. He starts to twist his tongue over the slit, running it down further, all wet and tightness. He begins to suck, pushing his head a bit forward so that he can accommodate for more of Alex to fit into his mouth, and Alex just begins to chant a mantra of his name, voice spiking with the slip of teeth on a particularly fast bob of his head.  
  
He pulls away for a moment, a wet pop following the movement. Hank kisses the head, fingers moving to play with his balls and Alex can't help but jerk slightly, cock pressing against his lips again. He feels the brunette nuzzle into the reaction, cock thick against his cheek; looking down, the sight of Hank's lips so red and shining with drips of Alex's precum on the corner of his mouth makes him moan and tug on the hair in between his fingers.  
  
Hank returns to sucking again with a renewed vigor, humming softly as Alex slowly rocks into his mouth, subtly enough not to hurt him—though he feels a gag reflex kick in at one point, and he stops, despite how amazing it feels to hit the back of his throat. The only thing grounding him is the coolness of the door on an exposed sliver of his back, and the drone of the bass from the party downstairs.  
  
 _HankHankHankyesgood_ , Alex can't think, and his words are all spilling out through moans and begging, and his vocabulary has somehow all been reduced to four letter words-- _”fuck, Hank, Hank fuck, good.”_ There's a wave of heat and energy, entirely pleasant and crashing that starts to creep into his abdomen, and it's spiking and oh god Hank, he moans that he's going to cum.  
  
Hank's mouth only encourages him, letting him thrust his hips up into his mouth. His head oscillates faster, tongue messily running over his cock until there's saliva down his lips and the only sounds in the room are Alex's moans and the sound of slick flesh. Everything about his movements, from the way that his fingers dig into his hips to the way that his mouth greedily takes him in, it all consumes Alex and he's suddenly spiraling down, or up—yes definitely up, his eyes are rolling back and he's shoving his hips into his face instinctively to finish off in that wet heat. He hears a hollow cracking, but in the amplitude of his orgasm, isn't able to process it into something significant.  
  
Alex groans, the first thing he feels as the pleasure begins to diffract out into his muscles is Hank pulling back, not moving from his place on the ground. His chest is heaving, and he feels like he just ran a fucking marathon, but that was by far the best blowjob of his life.  
  
It's Hank's voice that brings him back down, low and dry, but still edging on amused, “Alex,” he clears his throat, adjusting to it before wiping his mouth and Alex realizes that he's not wearing his glasses, “You broke my glasses. And there's cum on the lenses.”  
  
Alex furrows his brows, squeezing his eyes because the post orgasmic haze is still severely hindering cognitive skills, “What?”  
  
Hank presents him with the bent frames—that are indeed splattered with fluids—and there must be some tragic flaw with the crack in the frames because Hank doesn't put them back on. For a moment he congratulates himself on inadvertently accomplishing an unspoken goal. He tries to cover the moment of, fuck yes I broke his glasses with tugging up his jeans and sliding to the floor with a sheepish grin, “Sorry. I would buy you another pair—which no wait, fuck I will buy you new ones—but you should try contacts?” The suggestion isn't as subtle as he had intended, but really when does Alex ever achieve being socially graceful, but Hank quarks his lips.  
  
“It's fine, I have another pair at home,” Alex visibly deflates and Hank actually rolls his eyes, “But I do have contacts. They're just itchy.”  
  
“So then maybe you should consider trying those, because I mean, you have amazing eyes—fuck that sounds creepy, but yea.”  
  
Hank thinks for a moment, long arms pulling Alex in between his legs and into his lap. Another new piece of information, the geek with ridiculously long limbs intends to use those appendages to kill him in a cuddling trap. Although it's sort of nice so Alex doesn't mind, but he does realize he hadn't gotten Hank off and is about to offer to do so when Hank speaks first.  
  
“I sort of have to go home,” he sounds reluctant, “I...snuck out. Raven made me. But I'll wear contacts if it means we can do this again. At least that way you're not breaking anything.”  
  
Alex beams at him, and Hank steals a quick kiss that he's really tempted to pull him into and keep him there, but those long limbs are untangling themselves before he can lure him back in. “I'll make it up to you,” he promises, referring to the glasses and the reciprocation.  
  
“I know,” Hank grins at him.  
  
When they go back downstairs, Sean is giggling and sitting in a brunette girl's lap, and Alex hears him babbling about math (and he's genuinely shocked before he realizes Sean is just repeating the word _'mathematical'_ to himself in different tones.) Hank kisses him again before he leaves, and Alex sighs to himself. Sean won't even be able to celebrate in his victory with him, and he is responsible for taking him home. But overall, he's too drunk with cheap alcohol and Hank to care.  
  
The next time he sees Hank, their friends get together, surprisingly sober, and Hank smiles at him, bright blue eyes gleaming with no lenses to get in the way. Alex promptly drags him into the hallway when he thinks no one is looking—everyone notices anyways, not at all surprised.  



End file.
